January 28, 2010

P to the W to the... That's All I Got

I discovered that, while I have many things in my house that begin with the letter P, I have very few that begin with the letter W. A startling revelation, indeed.

I am referrring, of course, to Vicki's request that I post "a photo spread of things that begin with the letters P and W."

Your wish is my command, fair Vicki! Let's start with P for Pirate and...

Plate! You guys, I'm Scandinavian. Of COURSE, I collect Royal Copenhagen. I got at least a dozen of these plates.

Polar bear! My Royal Copenhagen collection is not limited to plates. I also have a RC bunny!

Pirate minis! Weird that I'm not a gamer, and yet I own three minis. (Not pictured: Legolas.) In retrospect, I should have put a nickel in the photo so you could see how truly miniscule these things are. They stand less than an inch tall!

Pussywillows! You would not believe how old these things are. They're from a tree long since gone, that stood behind the neighbors' garage at my parents' old house... where I have not lived for twenty-one years. Assuming they don't turn to dust before then, I'm having these pussywillows buried with me.

Now for the things that start with the same letter as Wenchie...

Watch! I'm kind of impressed at what a nice picture my camera took.

Wheat! Is it weird that I have wheat in an antique bottle as decor? Heather is having a stroke just looking at this photo.

Woodcuts! I like leaves. I have no idea where I found these. Probably the flea market.

Wonder Woman! Last, but certainly not least.

I hope you've enjoyed today's tour of Wenchie's Alphabet. Today's blog brought to you by the letters P and W, and by the number sixty-nine. Tee-hee!

Posted at 06:36 AM | Comments (1)

January 25, 2010

My 2,000th Comment!

Vicki posted my two-thousandth comment!

And isn't that a weird word -- thousandth? It has a N-D-T-H all in a row. That seems odd and like I'm speaking Elvish or something. (That's the language of the Elves, not Elvis with a speech impedement.)

What were we talking about? Oh yeah. Here's the formal, heartfelt, congratulatory announcement that I sent to Vicki:

Well, well, well. What have we here? It's a little mamasita named Vicki who just happens to be the author of WENCHIE'S 2000th COMMENT!!!

You know what this means! Or maybe you don't, I don't know. It's been a hella long time since my 1,500th comment. You can read about them all here.

Tell her what she's won, Don!

1. A photo spread of whatever you wanna see (within FCC guidelines, you sick bitch).

2. To ask me any question in the universe, and I will answer it, completely and truthfully, right here in my blog, for all the world to see.

3. Because you are the 2,000th commenter, you may make any request of me that you wish. Any desire, any belonging, any favor, any thing -- it's yours for the asking.

So whaddaya say to that?

After a day's thought, this is what Vicki said to that:

1. I would like a photo spread of things that begin with the letters P and W.

Okay, now, that's funny. Gimme a couple weeks to work on that.

2. My question is: WHere does your refined wit and fantastic humor come from? Do you cultivate it, like a beloved garden, or is it pure God-given talent? Do you draft out posts? Or just publish off the cuff? (ok, that's 3 questions)

Um... yes? I was unaware that I posessed "refined wit" and "fantastic humor," but now that you've enlightened me, I'm certainly not going to saddle God with the responsibility.

My Dad thinks that introducing my Mom as "my first wife" is the height of comedic pizzazz, so it's probably not him. My Mom is pretty freakin' funny, especially in writing, but I think it would be mean to lay my anger-fueled, expletive-laced word-vomit at her feet.

My official answer is -- the people in my head. Seriously, I don't know where this stuff comes from. Things just pop into my head, and since I have little or no brain-to-mouth filter, they just come unbidden to my lips. Or keyboard. Whatever.

Believe me, if I were going to carefully cultivate a particular brand of humor, it would not be this one. You have NO IDEA how much trouble I get in, how routinely I have people tell me that they don't get my jokes. I am a freak of nature, legitimized only by my anonymous blog and dozen or so fans.

Some of my posts come out completely intact and need very little revision from me. That is, they get very little revision from me. Anything that's an angry rant about a particular person or event is definitely "off the cuff." So is anything that's a conversation -- I.M. or face-to-face.

The rest take writing and re-writing and sometimes leaving for two years and coming back to, or eventually just dumping. And sometimes that's because I'm not feeling it as much as when I started, and sometimes it's just time constraints. Sometimes I'll get three or four ideas in one week; sometimes I'm hoping someone will do or say anything remotely interesting -- or rage-inducing -- because I'm tapped out. Throw me a bone, Universe!

This post? Off-the-cuff. Like you couldn't tell.

3. Favor? Duh - you, me, Heather - next Twilight movie we go together. YOu can buy the popcorn.

Well, duh, indeed. Shall I get us each our own bag? Or should we get one big bag and make Heather sit in the middle and hold it on her lap, so we can "accidentally" graze her boob when we reach for it?

These are my wishes!!

As you wish, my dear.

As you wish.

Posted at 06:19 AM | Comments (3)

January 19, 2010

And We Liked It!

When I was young, we didn't have the fancy-schmancy nail polish colors like they do now. And I bring this up because The Girl Child's new favorite color is lime green (not kelly green, not sage green, but LIME green), and she has managed -- despite my years of training -- to get her hands on a bottle of lime green nail polish.

Green? Are you kidding me?! Back in the day, if you wanted green nails, you first had to paint them with Liquid Paper and then color them in with green marker. Neon green highlighters worked the best.

And if you wanted your jeans fashionably worn to pieces? You couldn't just pay some designer $180 to do it for you. Oh no. You had to do it yourself. For a truly broken-in look, you could spend hours in front of the t.v. watching The Kenny Everett Show with a nail file and a pair of jeans from Lerner. (It was LERNER back then -- none of this pseudo-urban New York & Co. crap! And we liked it!) Or if you were lazy, you could just cut a couple holes with scissors and run them through the laundry once to fray the edges. (Also works with cut-off jean shorts!)

And you know what's weird? I drew on my Lee jeans and my Keds white canvas tennies with ballpoint pens all the time, and I don't remember my Mom ever yelling at me for that. Seems like something a snotty teenaged girl should get yelled at for, doesn't it? "Your father works hard to make money to buy you clothes, and you go and RUIN THEM???" Nope. Not once.

So where was I going with this? Absolutely nowhere. Just got me thinking because I haven't done my nails in WEEKS, and it's like I'm inhabiting someone else's body. So I was deciding on a color, when I remembered that Billi told me about Girl Child's new nail polish, and I was thinking, "She'd better not show her face in my home with green nail polish on or she's getting a pedicure RIGHT THAT MINUTE."

But now it's too close to bedtime so I'm just -- Jesus Christ on clearance, how do you stand me?

Posted at 08:00 PM | Comments (2)

January 14, 2010

A Letter to the Chick at My Doctor's Office

Dear Chatty Co-Ed,

Just in case you are stupid enough (and I think you are!) to continue to pursue a career that puts you in constant contact with the public, I'd like to help you out with a little contructive criticism.

Shut your fucking mouth.

Because I don't live in a cave, I noticed and recognized your SIX pieces of Tiffany jewelry the minute I walked in the door. You really didn't need to point them out to me. In fact, you'd better thank whatever god will claim you that there were witnesses, or your shiny silver would have been in the bottom of my purse.

You know what? If you have enough money to be buying yourself multiple pieces of Tiffany jewelry, then you DO NOT get to complain to ANYONE that your horrible mother actually expects you to start paying for some of your own upkeep. Don't kid yourself that I was listening sympathetically. I was only smiling and nodding because I was picturing myself gouging your eyes out and shoving them down your throat.

What makes you think I give a shit about you and all your new clothes (some of which still reside, in the bags with tags on, in the back of your car since before Christmas)? Are you TRYING to make me hate you? You know who washes all your piles of clothes? YOUR MOTHER! Pay her some fucking RENT, ya little shit!

Look at me. I have crow's feet. I wear sensible shoes. I have some grey hairs in my bangs. I am quite obviously a GROWN UP. For me to commiserate with your spoiled, ungrateful ass, I would have to defy all the known laws of the universe.

I have a mortgage. I have a stressful, low-paying job. I have a dog on THREE medications. I have one stepdaughter in college and the other one getting married. And I only have one piece of Tiffany jewelry.

And you know what? I wouldn't trade my life for yours for all the shoes at the Coach store. You know why? Because everyone forced to spend more than two seconds with you knows that you are a worthless, self-centered, ignorant insect who does nothing but accumulate useless crap and doesn't make one bit of difference to anyone or anything around you.

Don't talk to me. Don't whine to me. Don't gimme your little pouty face. You know what? I'm done trying to be nice to you. I liked you better when you were scared of me, so we're going back to that. Buckle up, bitch.

Nice sparkly headband.

All my love,
Wenchie

Posted at 06:43 PM | Comments (1)

January 12, 2010

Over State Lines

Husband's sister ML is a professional Herding Dog Trainer. Like in the movie "Babe," but with dogs instead of a pig. You didn't know that was even a real job, did you? Yes, yes, it is. There are, apparently, enough professional shepherds in the world to necessitate a professional herding dog trainer. It's a world so far outside my own that I barely comprehend it.

Anyway, ML owns a ranch, complete with sheep and geese. (Geese are what they use to train the very small puppies who might be intimidated by big-ass sheep. See how much you're learning? My blog is educational!) And all my jokes about rural life aside (and there are puh-LENTY) -- she is the SHIZZLE. If you owned a dog that actually herded and didn't sleep in your bed and eat homemade, organic food and wear little sweaters, you would know who ML is. She is The Dog Yeller.

She owns eight dogs, all working dogs. Two Great Pyrenees, five Belgian Tervurens, and one Border Collie. The Collie and one of the Tervurens are CHAMPIONS in their field (pun intended). The Great Pyreanees are employed to protect the sheep. They live with the sheep and keep the coyotes and wolves and eagles away.

(Sadly, there are no protective dogs living with the geese, and last summer, a couple of eagles made off with the entire flock. BWAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! Oh my God, rural life just never gets un-funny! I shouldn't be laughing, as it is expensive to replace a flock of geese, but that is one thing that us suburbanites and city slickers never have to worry about -- finding our goose's entrails hanging from a tree. See? FUNNY!)

Meanwhile, back in civilization, The Boy Child and The Spare continue their tormenting of their own dog, as well as my dogs. These boys luuuuuuuv dogs. So what better field trip to take them on than to a RANCH with EIGHT DOGS! It's every little boy's dream, right? Dogs big enough for them to ride! Woo-hoo!

And if we go in the beginning of April? In addition to wonderful doggies and barnyard animals? There will be BABY LAMBIES!!! ML is mating 40 of her sheep this month, and is therefore expecting 40 baby lambies the first few weeks of April! And don't even think of correcting me and telling me that a baby sheep is a kid. I don't care. It's a BABY LAMBIE!!!

So, being the awesome aunt that I am, I wrote an email to Billi outlining my idea for an outing to the wilds of Indiana. I included a lovely description of the scenery, the wilderness to explore, the dogs, the sheep, the baby lambies. But I made sure that she knew it would also involve a trip across state lines, a sleepover at a ranch, a gorge on the property big enough to hide bodies in, and various and sundry carnivores.

I mean, these are her babies I'm potentially absconding with, and I'd understand completely if she was apprehensive about letting me take her blessed treasures three hours away into coyote country.

Here is my sister's reply, verbatim:

Please. Take my children.

Their spring break is that week of March 29 - April 2.

Go! Take them! Spend the night! Have fun!

Wow. I don't even think she talked to Brad first. She just hit reply and started doing her happy dance.

Why do I get the feeling that I'll be ending some future blog post with the words "...and she left no forwarding address"?

Posted at 02:55 PM | Comments (2)

January 07, 2010

The Work Kiss

Earlier today, I told PhD Boss that he seemed angry and asked him if he was mad at me. So from then on, he was RIDICULOUSLY, bend-over-backwards nice to me. Which was disconcerting, especially when he insisted that we walk out to our cars together.

But first I had to wait for him while he was distracted by Meg, the Rubenesque blonde who has a cube near us.

Meg: Bye! See you in February!

PhD: Oh, that's right! Where are you going this time?

Meg: Tanzania, then Palestine, then London.

PhD: Wow. Well, have a safe journey! *smooch*

Meg: Oooooh, you're all scratchy!

PW: *eyeroll* God. Are you dating her now, too?

PhD: What? Nooooooooo!

PW: Dude. You kissed her.

PhD: We're friends!

PW: Whatever. I don't kiss my friends.

PhD: Oh, stop.

PW: And I sure as hell don't kiss anyone at work.

PhD: Did you see Alpha's face?! She was, like, COMPLETELY taken aback!

[Alpha is the other secretary here, if you'll remember.]

PW: Yeah, that's cuz you kissed Meg. On the lips.

PhD: I've seen Alpha kiss Head Boss.

PW: Neither of them are a hott, young blonde.

PhD: So you don't kiss people.

PW: Dude, I'm Norwegian. I barely hug. If someone hugs me, fine, but I don't initiate. And the only people I kiss are my parents.

PhD: What if someone's going away on a long trip?

PW: Nope. Oh, wait, Heather and I kiss, but it's that Hollywood kiss, where you kiss the air next to their face. I don't even know how that started.

PhD: See!

PW: ... Don't ever kiss me.

PhD: Really?

PW: Really really.

And for the record, my car could eat his car for breakfast.

Posted at 08:20 PM | Comments (1)

January 05, 2010

2010 Wench-olutions

Modified from my 2009 resolutions...

1. Call my Mom twice a week, just to make sure she isn't lying in the icey driveway with a broken hip. I try to institute The W Rule -- Wednesdays and weekends.

2. Keep in touch with my friends better, including all the friends from grade school that I have reconnected with, thanks to FaceBook, which is turning out NOT to be an introvert's wet dream, thankyouverymuch.

3. Cook healthy meals more often because we both need to lose weight, and I have two hours to myself before Husband gets home from work, so there's just no good reason not to. (Well, actually, there are PLENTY of good reasons not to -- see resolutions two, four through seven, and nine.)

4. Sing more often, even if it's just in the car because that "O Little Town of Bethlehem" at the Christmas Day service was just pathetic.

5. Take better care of the dogs. I mean, I'm not abusive or anything, but they REALLY need to be brushed and walked more regularly. And maybe if I cut Daisy's nails more often, she wouldn't have a deep-rooted fear of the linoleum.

6. Blog twice a week, even if it's just a paragraph or photo. Or a rehashed New Years' Resolutions List.

7. Start writing my damn book already. How about one chapter by 2011, okay, Wenchie? Or at least the introduction and dedication page?

8. Stop pretending that I am a photo album kind of person and just put all my electronic photos on the cool flash drive that Husband got me for Christmas. Seriously, I haven't looked at a photo album in YEARS. Or see if they have any cute photo boxes at Target because I am totally a box kind of person (thanks, Lori!).

9. Start playing piano again, before arthitis starts to set in. I'm forty now, so it's bound to start happening! I'm already having trouble seeing things up close! Can death be far behind? What's that, Grandma? Walk towards the light?

10. Upgrade our current outdated, delapitated, Smithsonian-worthy t.v. to a new, wide flatscreen. Make a deal with Jeebus, if necessary -- no new Coach purses in 2010 if I can just have a new t.v.!

Now to print this off and hang it somewhere I'll always see it. Like inside the fridge.

Posted at 08:44 PM | Comments (0)